He managed to secure a passport as an agent of the Republic on
a mission. He disguised himself, dyed his eye-brows, put on blue
spectacles, and left Paris in a post-chaise. Twice he was stopped
by National Guards in the towns through which he passed. With great
audacity he declared that he would hold responsible before the Republic
those who delayed him on his mission. The word “Republic” produced
its effect. They allowed the Minister to pass. The Republic saved M.
Duchâtel.
In this way he reached a seaport (Boulogne, I think), believing that
he was being hotly pursued, and very nervous in consequence. A Channel
steamer was going to England. He went on board at night. He was
installing himself for the voyage when he was informed that the steamer
would not leave that night. He thought that he had been discovered and
that he was a lost man. The steamer had merely been detained by the
English Consul, probably to facilitate, if necessary, the flight of
Louis Philippe. M. Duchâtel landed again and spent the night and next
day in the studio of a woman painter who was devoted to him.
Then he embarked on another steamer. He went below at once and concealed
himself as best he could pending the departure of the vessel. He
scarcely dared to breathe, fearing that at any moment he might be
recognised and seized. At last the steamer got under way. Hardly had the
paddle wheels begun to revolve, however, when shouts of “Stop her! Stop
her!” were raised on the quay and on the boat, which stopped short. This
time the poor devil of a Minister thought it was all up with him. The
hubbub was caused by an officer of the National Guard, who, in taking
leave of friends, had lingered too long on deck, and did not want to
be taken to England against his will. When he found that the vessel had
cast off he had shouted “Stop her!” and his family on the quay had
taken up the shout. The officer was put ashore and the steamer finally
started.
This was how M. Duchâtel left France and reached England.